


Conpago

by potionseagle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 04:04:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10711809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potionseagle/pseuds/potionseagle
Summary: Ginny is captured during Deathly Hallows and Draco is her keeper, with nothing between them but a spell that forces Ginny to stay at least three feet away.





	Conpago

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the italicized lines are from Deathly Hallows (it should be fairly obvious when that’s the case). Enjoy, and feedback, as always, is appreciated. :)

_August 8th, 1997_

It had been seven days since the wedding. Ginny only knew the number because Ollivander was better at counting than she was. He told her it was necessary to keep them sane. Privately, she thought that ship had probably sailed for him, and she was next. Last night had been the worst since her arrival; she couldn’t sleep because she had been shaking so badly. After effects, she supposed, of too much time under the Cruciatus Curse. It was hard to say which was worse; writhing under an enthusiastic administration of the Torture Curse, or having “whore” and “blood traitor” crudely carved into her; “whore” twice-- on her ribcage and the inside of her thigh. “Blood traitor” graced the back of her left shoulder. The second “T” had hurt the worst as she felt the vertical line cutting through her shoulder blade, breaking bone. It hadn’t healed yet. Ginny knew the “yet” was a hopeful addition, but she added it regardless. Hope was all she had; hope that she would see Harry again, hope that she would escape. Despite the fact that their relationship had ensured her capture, she wouldn’t take it back. She still worried for him more than she worried for herself.

Instinctively, Ginny buried her face in her lap as she heard footsteps come down the stairwell. She peeked through her curtain of bright red hair with a sliver of hope; the footsteps didn’t have the loud reverberation of Bellatrix’s, the only Death Eater she had interacted with-- if you call being tortured repeatedly an interaction-- since Dolohov had originally brought her here.

She saw long, silvery blond hair poking through the lines of her own red. She recognized the woman: Malfoy’s mother.

“Weasley.” Narcissa pronounced her name in a sneer that was so characteristically Malfoy that it was almost comforting. “Weasley,” she repeated, refusing to look down at her. “Get _up._ The Dark Lord requests your presence in the dining room.” Panic replaced relief almost instantaneously. Ginny had never come face-to-face with Voldemort as he existed today, but his teenage self still haunted her nightmares. It would be so difficult to face the man she knew looked barely human, knowing how much she admired him as a child. Her thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of levitation. She kicked and fought, but was soon sailing up the stairs, graceful footsteps trailing behind her.

 

_August 12th, 1997_

Four days later, and her head still throbbed from the poking and prodding of Voldemort. She had tried so hard, but it was impossible. Her memories quickly surrendered to him, and she was increasingly thankful that Harry had never shared his plans with her. _“Useless girl!”,_ Voldemort had shouted as he relinquished her, visibly angry. Still, she knew that she had given Voldemort valuable information in her memories of their relationship. Ginny had felt hands on her as she was passing out, and had woken up in a small, plain white room. There was only a bed, but it was a vast upgrade to the dungeons. The first night, she refused to sleep on the bed, suspicious of its presence, but by the second night she was too weak to care. Someone had been bringing her food, but she slipped in and out of consciousness too frequently to take note of who that was.

 

_August 15th, 1997_

Her eyelids opened slowly; the room was blurry as it had been every morning. Someone had been giving her Dreamless Sleep. She didn’t question why; they had done all they could, and for now she was happy to lose herself in deep sleep. This morning, though, she did not wake to a plain white wall and a light blue door as she had been accustomed. Instead, she saw a very familiar pointed nose, attached to an unpleasant Slytherin.

“Malfoy,” she snarled, and in her sleepy state, she still managed to lunge, going straight for his wand. No sooner had she done so than she was thrown against the wall behind her. “Ow,” she couldn’t help but let out. The force was so strong that she ricocheted, hitting again what felt like an invisible wall until mercifully she landed in a crumple in the corner of the room. “What the hell did you do to me?”

Malfoy let out a long sigh that sounded more annoyed than anything else. “Do you really think there are no precautions to prevent you throwing yourself at me and disarming me? I’m not an idiot.”

“I wouldn’t think you would have felt the need to take precautions against a blood traitor. And I do, in fact, think you’re an idiot, ferret.” Still facing the floor and with no desire to move without knowing the parameters of the spell he had cast, Ginny didn’t try to turn to face him, but tried to put enough conviction into her voice to have the same effect. She heard the door close behind her forcefully and let out a breath. Ginny stayed in that position for a while.

 

_August 30th, 1997_

Ginny hadn’t taken the Dreamless Sleep last night. She noticed that whenever she took it, she would wake to her food for the day and water, but she knew Malfoy was bringing it, judging off the morning he had come late. When he slipped in that morning, she was hoping to catch him off guard. Hopefully, whatever ridiculous spell he had cast last time had been a precaution for his lateness. So, when he came in, she was perched against the wall, ready to use it as leverage. She flung herself at him to the same effect as last time, but worse as she had put in considerably more force. She ended up on the floor, her ankle twisted and her head bleeding. “Bloody hell.” It wasn’t her voice; it was Malfoy’s. “Don’t you learn, Weasley? And you didn’t even take your Dreamless Sleep. You’re never going to heal at this rate.”

“Heal?” Ginny lifted her chin to face him defiantly. “You expect me to believe you and your gang of Death Eaters are, what, trying to save little old me?”

“Just me, actually. Although I have been asked to keep you alive.”

_“Just me”? What did that mean?_ She asked the more pressing question, although she was admittedly even more curious why Malfoy was apparently giving her Dreamless Sleep of his own accord. “Why do I keep being sent backward?”

“When you try to attack me, you mean?” There was no anger in his voice. It was rather flat. If there were any emotion infused in his drawling syllables, it was amusement.

“Yes, that.”

“It’s a spell.”

“I gathered that much, thank you, Professor,” Ginny shot back sarcastically. Malfoy smirked.

“There is essentially a three feet radius around me that you can’t penetrate.” Malfoy’s gray eyes danced with amusement. He was clearly extremely proud of his wandwork.

“And you cast this every morning? That afraid of a Weasley?”

“Actually, the spell is in effect permanently. Unless I choose to remove it, of course.” His smirk was widening and it was infuriating. He lowered his voice to a whisper before continuing, “I won’t.”

“What about the other Death Eaters?”

“Oh, it only applies to you, dear Weasley. It’s fairly easy to get a fistful of ginger hair off an unconscious blood traitor.”

“You fucking ferret--” In response, Malfoy took a few casual steps toward her, which had the effect of pinning her already bruised body to the wall. He leaned forward slowly and she felt as though she were being pressed; her chest constricted, her breathing went ragged, and then… he took a step backward.

“Might want to remember who is in charge here.” His voice was cold then. She rather preferred teasing Malfoy. He slammed the door behind him.

 

_September 6th, 1997_

The Dreamless Sleep had stopped coming. Still, she pretended to be asleep when he came in every morning. She stayed awake most of the night with nightmares or flashbacks. Usually a combination of the two. Ginny sighed. She knew what she had to do, but she had been wrestling with herself, nearly pleading with her rational side.

 

_September 7th, 1997_

Malfoy came in as he did every morning, placing her food and water for the day before quickly turning to leave, as had become their routine. “Malfoy-- er, Draco--” Well that got his attention. He turned toward her, leaning against the doorframe and raising a platinum blond eyebrow that nearly blended in with his extremely pale-- paler than usual?-- skin.

“Yes? I, unlike you, haven’t got all day.” Oh, he was enjoying this. He was enjoying this so much.

“I’m sorry about my behavior the other day.”

“And what, in particular, are you sorry for?” Malfoy put on a mock-innocent expression and proceeded to drum his long fingers against the door frame.

_You have to do this, Ginny. You have to be nice to Malfoy._ Her stomach churned at the thought but she plowed forward, doing her best at a fake smile although she doubted it looked authentic. “For calling you a ferret.”

“And?”

“Um-- testing your spell?”

“Yes. And?” _And? What else?_

“Is there something in particular you wanted me to apologize for?” She asked through gritted teeth despite her best efforts.

“Well, you weren’t very appreciate of my efforts.”

“Efforts?”

“The Dreamless Sleep.”

“Oh.” She still hadn’t figured that one out. “That was quite thoughtful of you, thank you.”

Malfoy nodded, shrugging dramatically. “I could bring it for you tomorrow. But only if you really wanted it.” _What the fuck?_

“Um, okay.”

“So that’s a no, then,” he drawled, elongating every syllable even more than his irritating voice tended to.

“I would love and appreciate a Dreamless Sleep potion,” Ginny responded, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

“Certainly. I’ll bring some tomorrow if you’re that desperate for it.” She was annoyed to see a twinkle in his eye as he left the dungeon. And then a realization dawned on her… Malfoy was flirting with her. And-- a genuine smile graced her face-- she could use this. _You will be taking off that charm, Malfoy. And then we’ll see who’s desperate._

 

_September 8th, 1997_

Malfoy came in the next morning with breakfast, water, and a deep purple potion. “Your Dreamless Sleep.”

“Did you brew it yourself?” She sat perched on the edge of the bed, staring intently into his clear gray eyes.

“Are you concerned about my competency?”

“No, merely curious. It does get a bit boring with only the wall for company. I thought we’d have a chat.” Draco raised an eyebrow again.

“A chat? With a Slytherin? Isn’t that against the Gryffindor code of conduct? They might strip you of your red and gold if you continue in this vein.” Ginny resisted an urge to roll her eyes.

“And what vein is that?”

“A chat with me. You’ve already forgotten your own proposal?” His voice pronounced the last word like a threat, and had a mocking look on his face, but she wasn’t sure which of them it was directed at. “You are in need of sleep, after all.” He left the room, and Ginny crossed it behind him, immediately taking her Dreamless Sleep. She didn’t have any plans for the day, and Draco was right. It had been a long time since she’s had a full night’s sleep. It would also be unhelpful to be groggy the next morning; she needed her wits about her. They were all she had left.

 

_September 12th, 1997_

“Why aren’t you at Hogwarts? I mean, I know why I’m not there, but shouldn’t you be lording over the school or something?” Her chats with Malfoy had been going rather well. Today was the second time that he had come in the afternoon for tea.

A shadow of a frown caught his face before he shook it away. “I’m needed here.” Well, that was the end of that conversation.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she forced out. He laughed, but it was an empty laugh.

“I doubt you’re glad of anything, Weasley.” _Perceptive git._

 

_October 18th, 1997_

Their talks had gone from teasing to personal. It was nice in a way; Ginny told herself that it was just part of the plan, but she didn’t mind the company, either. She had become so comfortable, that she felt a question tumble out of her mouth with the feeling of immediately wanting to tug it back. She had always been a bit impulsive, and had a habit of talking before her brain could process what she was saying, but this was bad.

“Why did you do it-- become a Death Eater I mean?” Her question rang in the air, falling between them as silence descended. Draco was sitting straight up against the blue door, as he often did; she also sat on the floor, propped up against the white wall, to be eye-to-eye with him.

“A lot of reasons. Family, mostly. Also, I didn’t know the Dark Lord was…” He didn’t continue.

“Evil?” She completed, raising her eyebrows.

Draco shrugged noncommittally. “I trusted him,” he said simply, refusing to make eye contact with her.

“You trusted him?” Ginny knew her voice was incredulous, but she couldn’t help it.

Draco turned to face her then, his gray eyes boring into her brown ones. “Didn’t you?”

She felt her breath constrict, and it wasn’t because Draco was too close. “That was a low blow, Draco. You know it was your dad--”

“I know. You know it was here for years. The diary.”

“Well, I suppose, but what does that have to do with your dad leaving it to possess me when I was an eleven-year-old girl?”

“I found it when I was little.” Ginny felt all the life drain from her face.

“What?”

“I found it--”

“How old?”

“I was seven.” _Seven. Merlin._ “It came close, I suppose… I started forgetting huge chunks of time. My dad noticed and… hid it better. But I never really learned to hate my childhood friend. I suppose it was because it was the only one I had.” He smiled at that, a small, sad smile. It looked so wrong on his normally sneering face.

“I can understand that,” Ginny offered. “The diary… T--” she stopped. She was going to say Tom, but it felt too familiar a name to use for her captor. “I thought he was my friend, too.” Unthinking, she reached out a hand, only to have it hit an invisible wall.

 

_December 25th, 1997_

“Happy Christmas,” Draco greeted her.

“Christmas?” Ginny had stopped counting the days long ago, deeming is impossible and useless. But this meant she had been gone over four months-- her family must have been beside themselves, especially today. She felt tears fall freely from her eyes; there was no helping it.

“Merlin, Ginny, I didn’t think about-- I’ll leave.”

He left chocolates. There was no note on them.

 

_December 28th, 1997_

“I’m sorry about my behavior on Christmas.”

Ginny looked up at Draco, surprised. “You’ve been avoiding me because you’re sorry? I thought you were upset with me?”

He looked confused. It didn’t fit with his face. “Why would I be upset with you?”

“Well, I thought-- because I cried. And you were trying to be nice.”

A small shake of his head sent his longer-than-usual hair in disarray.

“Thank you for the chocolates, by the way.”

He smiled, but there was nothing behind it. “Chocolates have healing properties.”

 

_January 15th, 1998_

This was her time; her moment. A small part of her felt guilty for what she was about to do, but her survival instinct was stronger-- much stronger. “Kiss me, Draco.” She looked at him with what she hoped was a sensual look.

“Ginny.” He looked at her with a gently scolding expression and let out a sigh. “Do you think I don’t know what you’ve been doing? That you’ve been trying to convince me to trust you enough-- want you enough-- to lower the charm?” And she felt herself deflate. All of that planning. All of their late-night conversations. All of her… confused feelings, while she tried to sleep but kept seeing platinum blond hair, too long and too messy, reminding her painfully that this was not quite the Draco she knew in school. Frustration coursed through her, and a small part of her-- the part that felt like a pain in her chest-- knew it wasn’t only because she wasn’t escaping today.

“So have you just been messing with me, then? Making me think I had a chance of getting out of here?”

“No, Ginny. That’s not it. I just… I didn’t care why you wanted to talk with me. I just needed someone to talk to.” For the first time, Ginny felt like she wanted to reach out to touch him, even if it meant she couldn’t get out. She wanted to comfort him; to stroke his hair and tell him everything was going to be okay. But it wasn’t. And there was no use pretending otherwise.

Instead, she turned around to face the plain white wall of the room that had become her cell. “Please leave.” He didn’t say anything. She heard ragged breaths and uncertain footsteps before a door quietly closed behind her.

 

_March 28th, 1998_

Ginny didn’t know how long it had been since her attempted escape, but it felt like ages. Her and Draco hadn’t talked since. She took her Dreamless Sleep at night instead of during the day so she wouldn’t have to hear him come in. He started leaving books with her food. Ginny didn’t know how to feel about that. She felt like it was some appreciation of her boredom, but it also seemed to be a painful reminder that he would not be there to fill her hours. His voice echoed in her head often: _“I just needed someone to talk to.”_ She did, too. But she didn’t want to admit that she needed more than that-- and that she had had it, so she had kept her routine, trying to lie to herself about how much she missed him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by raised voices downstairs-- Snatchers. This happened with increasing frequency, but she always listened in to see if the people were her friends, or had any news of them. She rolled her eyes as they demanded to see Voldemort. _Good luck_ , she thought to herself. _He hasn’t been here in ages. Not that I’m complaining._

But suddenly, her blood ran cold. _“You know me. Fenrir Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!”_ Fuck. They had to be wrong.

Ginny crawled to the door despite the fact that she could already hear clearly. Then she heard Draco’s name and found herself holding her breath.

_“Well, boy?”_ She heard the same voice demand. _Well, Draco?_ , she thought herself.

Lucius Malfoy repeated her thoughts aloud, sending a shiver down her spine. _“Well, Draco?”_ , she heard him snap.

_“I can’t-- I can’t be sure.”_ His voice was quiet, but it carried through the house, seeming to echo. She heard the lie on his tongue easily, but hoped no one else did. Lucius Malfoy didn’t accept his uncertainty, demanding that Draco look closer. _Please be strong, Draco._ More argument ensued, turning attention away from him.

But soon, she heard his shaky voice reverberate again. _“I don’t know.”_ The exchange continued, and Draco continued to give noncommittal phrases to placate his parents. _And to protect my friends._ Ginny could lie to herself about a lot of things-- that she only missed the company, that her heart only beat erratically out of concern for Harry and his friends-- but she knew that Draco had done this for her. And it felt… good. The warmth in her chest was fleeting.

Voices continued arguing downstairs, but Ginny mostly tuned them out until she heard Ron and Harry screaming Hermione’s name followed by a sound that was too familiar: Bellatrix Lestrange’s _“Crucio!”_

 

_March 29th, 1998_

Draco slipped in early the next morning with a slow opening of the door and quiet footsteps, but she was wide awake. “Draco!” The door started to close again. “Draco, please! I need to speak with you.” A pause, and then a reluctant widening of the gap between the door and the door jamb.

“You heard yesterday.” It wasn’t a question. He looked awful; the last couple months hadn’t been kind to him. The dark circles were worse than usual, dark purple against his skin that had become so pale it was almost gray. He was in a set of Slytherin-green silk pajamas that looked freshly laundered, which made the black spots dotting his arms and torso worse, as it was clearly fresh dried blood. The right side of his jaw was swollen to twice its normal size. He had been tortured. Probably because of what he had done for Harry. Ginny’s heart did a small flip-flop of its own accord.

“Draco,” she managed to breathe out. Her eyes burned with threatened tears, but she pushed them down. “You’re hurt.”

“Ginny, I thought we were done with this game.” There was no malice in his words, only exhaustion. It didn’t escape her notice that he still used her given name, despite their last interaction.

“It’s not a game, Draco. And neither was what you did yesterday.”

“I didn’t recognize--”

“Don’t lie to me.” She looked directly into his eyes until he looked back. All she saw in his dull gray eyes was exhaustion.

Draco didn’t respond. “It’s getting close,” he said instead, his voice nearly a whisper. He still hadn’t moved from the door frame. Ginny noticed that his hand was clutching onto the doorknob, his knuckles white from exertion. Draco was struggling to stand, and his eyebrows were knitted together, determined and considering something, though what she didn’t know.

“You should sit.”

Draco shook his head. “I’m very weak,” he replied, but there was something strange about his tone, like he was hinting at something, and he didn’t take her invitation. “Enjoy your breakfast. I’m expected in the dining hall.” And with that, he left, gesturing to the door with a nearly imperceptible nod of his head.

On a whim, without telling herself even what she was doing for fear of hoping too much, she tried the door. It moved. _“It’s getting close,”_ he had said. To her death? Is that why he let her out? _“I’m expected in the dining hall.”_ Ginny realized that Draco was trying to tell her that the time is now; everyone would be in the dining hall, giving her a clear shot at the exit. This was her only chance, so why wasn’t she running? Ginny bit her lip and let a tear fall down her cheek. She thought of Draco’s bruised-- and damn it, beautiful-- face, and felt momentarily paralyzed. But then she thought of all her friends, and of what Harry might do if Voldemort had her in the end, that she spurred herself to action. And Draco-- he would have to be okay. Wasn’t he telling her that he was maintaining plausible deniability? He looked close to death; that would have to be enough for the Death Eaters as to why he forgot to replace the wards. Wouldn’t it? Ginny had to suppress the voice in the back of her head that told her Draco probably couldn’t take another round of play with his aunt as she made what she hoped was the right decision: flight.

If Ginny had any remaining doubts about Draco’s intentions, they were gone once she reached the grand staircase at the end of the dark gray hallway. Sitting against the staircase, propped up so that it almost blended with the wood, was a wand that Ginny recognized almost immediately: Hermione’s. She considered leaving it for a minute, but knew that Draco’s sacrifice might be for naught if she were wandless, and finding the wand so carelessly placed might get him into even more trouble than a wand missing that no one was even using. She placed the vine wand in her right hand and quietly placed a Disillusionment Charm on herself, inwardly thanking the late Mad-Eye Moody, who had agreed to teach her useful charms despite the fact that she was underage. Ginny tiptoed down the lushly carpeted staircase. As she closed in on the imposing front door, she heard the maniacal cackles of Bellatrix Lestrange. Luckily for her, it was coming from the other side of the Manor.

She paused for a moment in front of the door. This would be the hard part; it might be warded, and if anyone saw her, they would know someone was there. She opened the door, waiting, poised to strike with her wand. No one came. She slipped out and closed the door as quietly as possible. Once the door was closed, she moved onto her next task: the gate. She climbed over it as quickly as possible the muggle way. Luckily, the Malfoys hadn’t thought of guarding it against that type of escape. Once she was past the gate, she took off into a sprint, not daring to look back, partly for fear of who might be after her and partly for fear of changing her mind.

 

_April 1st, 1998_

The days immediately following her freedom had been a blur. She had run until she couldn’t run anymore, and collapsed onto a grassy field. Unable to Apparate, she walked for two and a half days, having to resort to stealing from a Muggle convenience store for sustenance. On the third day, she came upon the Thomas’s house; she had visited Dean just two summers ago, although it felt like a lifetime now. The house was empty, clearly ransacked. She tried not to think too much about that as she grabbed a fistful of familiar green powder and simultaneously conjured flames. Ginny felt a wave of relief as she shouted, “The Burrow!”, the Fidelius Charm allowing her through.

Screams of joy greeted her as she tumbled out of the fireplace, but she felt too numb and exhausted to do much except receive their embraces. The sleep that followed greeted her like an old friend.

 

_May 2nd, 1998_

The battle was over, but it was difficult to feel elation. All she could think of was Fred. Out of all of her brothers, she and the twins had been closest. Fred’s death took a part of her with him, and the despair weighed on her, suffocating her but not relieving her with death. She watched as everyone pawed over Harry, but didn’t have the energy to follow them. She sat on that cold, hard bench, just waiting for someone to tell her everything would be okay. But they wouldn’t. And it wasn’t.

Ginny looked on with indifference as Harry spoke to Luna. Their attachment was painfully obvious, but Ginny felt less than she thought she would regarding it. Ginny stared on, feeling very far away as Luna attempted a distraction and Harry put his invisibility cloak on. When her brother and Hermione left, she knew they left with Harry. She felt neglect and relief all wrapped up into one bundle. Finally, she let her eyes drift over where she had been consciously avoiding: the Malfoys. Lucius and Narcissa were facing away from her, arms clutching Draco tightly. Ginny felt her heart skip as fierce gray eyes bore into hers, nakedly conveying all of the feelings she had tried, and failed, to suppress. They were so alive, so wanting. Against her own will, she nodded slightly to the right. Draco nodded and rose, disentangling himself from his sobbing mother, his own shoulder wet. She felt him follow behind her into the dark corridor, her steps shaky but her resolve strong.

“Draco,” she breathed when she turned and saw him in the hallway. The dawn surrounded him, the large window to his left casting oranges and pinks across his pale, worn face. His smile was brighter than all the colors of the dawn; it stretched across his face, sincere and seemingly out-of-place to any outsider, but to Ginny it said all it needed to. _“Conpago,”_ he whispered, tapping himself. Ginny was confused for a moment but realized he must have been undoing the spell that kept them apart for all those months.

“Ginny.” Her name fell from his lips like a prayer, and he searched her eyes as though diving for permission. Instead of granting it, she reached out and grabbed his platinum blond hair; it was longer than he had ever had it, reaching his chin. The length of his hair carried the vestiges of war, but it didn’t drive her away. The bruises dotting his skin, the scratch on his cheek, and the tears in his clothing were all a fierce reminder of his sacrifice several weeks ago. And she thought of that sacrifice and of their late-night talks and barely concealed desire as she molded against him. Her chest brushed right below his own, and she lifted her head to meet his thin, cracked lips. Once she kissed them, they parted for her, inviting and desperate. She felt his tongue flick against her three or four times before she parted her own lips to invite him in. He pushed her against the wall then. They both heard the crack as her head hit the gray stone wall; he paused briefly, worried, but she slipped her tongue in between his perfectly straight teeth in response and he leaned against her, grabbing her small waist with his coarse hands. He felt like war, and desire, and… love? She didn’t know what to call their time together, but she knew she had been waiting for this moment, this joining. It was enough. He was enough.

 

_June 12th, 1998_

The months after the war passed in a blur. The Burrow was filled with relief and mourning, happiness and sorrow. Ginny was empty. Too soon after she had touched Draco for the first time-- something she hadn’t even admitted to herself she had been waiting for-- the Ministry dragged him away with the other Malfoys and previous Death Eaters. She sobbed. Attempts at comfort were made, but they were confused and half-hearted. To everyone else, he had been her savior; to her, he was so much more.

Harry tried to let her down gently sometime after-- days? Weeks? Hours?-- and she touched his shoulder gingerly before embracing him like an old friend. “I hope you and Luna are happy,” she whispered in his ear. Ginny felt his smile stretch across his face against her shoulder before she left him go and saw it light up his face.

“Ginny-- I--” He stuttered.

“Really. I’m okay,” It wasn’t true, but she did accept Harry and Luna. They were lovely and wholly unexpected-- just like-- no, she wouldn’t finish that thought.

 

_July 3rd, 1998_

Ginny was curled up in her bed. It still felt odd to be in her old bedroom. She had changed so much over the past year. Somewhere between the torture, the months of confinement, and a new understanding of Draco Malfoy, she had become a different person. She retreated often to her room to read, more for solitude than anything else.

Today she was reading a book on old enchantments that had fallen out of fashion. She loved reading books that focused on wizarding history; they made her feel as though she were transported to another time, and she desperately needed that lately. This particular volume focused on charms used by wizards and witches in medieval times upon marriage.

_“Because most husbands placed their wives under Fidelity Charms that would burn them upon breaking, witches developed methods to ensure their own Fidelity, as the witches that came before them learned through trial by fire that the charms could not be broken. A particularly popular charm, the Resistance Charm, ensured a three feet distance from the caster’s beloved, although it can easily be broken with the counter curse.”_

Ginny nearly dropped her book. _What the hell? What the hell did I just read?_ And she read it again, and again, and again. But the words on the page stayed the same. She skimmed the rest of the book, but there was nothing about the Resistance Charm. _“Caster’s beloved”?_ She needed more information, because Draco couldn’t have-- not nearly a year ago-- could he?

 

_July 5th, 1998_

He did. After many trips to the library, Ginny had scrounged up probably every book that existed on marriage rituals, medieval charms, and everything tangentially related. She found five other mentions of the Resistance Charm; three of them included the countercurse he had used. One of them had been less vague than her original text: _“the Resistance Charm will only work when the caster experiences genuine love.”_ The other texts all used the four letters that Ginny had tried not to think about, but that seemed a fruitless exercise now more than ever. Guilt intermingled with regret. _How long? Why? How much time had they wasted? Would they ever have more?_

 

_October 19th, 1998_

Soon, it was October, and she knew what was coming: Draco’s trial. She had insisted on testifying, and Draco’s lawyer accepted it graciously. She also convinced the Golden Trio to testify regarding Draco refusing to identify Harry. That had been an uphill battle. Ron’s response was “he was too stupid to notice, Ginny.” Luckily, Hermione shushed him with a touch. Ginny didn’t know if it was belief in Draco, or an understanding she didn’t want to acknowledge, but Hermione did the convincing and she was silently grateful. The three of them went first, and then she heard her name. Something about hearing her full name shook her, or perhaps it was the image of Draco, helpless, in the defendant’s chair. Shakily, she gave her testimony. They never made eye contact. Ginny privately hoped he understood.

 

_June 13th, 1999_

The light gray hallway stretched for what seemed like miles. She followed behind Hestia Jones as she led her further into the labyrinth. Their time was brief, but littered with questions and statements, such as: “This is very nice of you Ginny, but you don’t have to--” or “Are you sure you want to--”

Ginny brushed them all away, like unwelcome weeds in her garden. Yes, she was sure she wanted to visit Draco. It wasn’t because she was “nice”; in fact, she was ready to hex the next person who suggested that as the reason. She would have visited earlier, but she had to finish her seventh year. It was hard enough explaining to her family that she wanted to spend the first day after her graduation in Azkaban, but taking time off school to do so had been an unfortunate impossibility. She tried to go during Christmas vacation, but had been told there was a mandatory period of three months of solitude with the dementors post-trial. She shuddered on hearing that, picturing Draco just as he had been when she escaped: afraid, alone, and ashamed.

Finally, she reached the room where they could meet. They were separated by a charm to ensure she didn’t pass him anything; a tear streaked down her cheek involuntarily as they had explained the procedures earlier that day. It was just like her time at Malfoy Manor. It was torture, and even worse as they knew what they were missing.

“Ginny,” Draco greeted her. Always with her name. Never a hello, or a “how are you.” They had been through too much together to bother with such trivialities.

“Draco. I missed you.” It was true. She had thought of him frequently; especially in Potions, which she knew from their time together was his favorite subject. She thought of him when she flew, and felt him with her as she caught the snitch. They had talked about Quidditch so frequently, but had never been able to play together. A stolen hour was all they had before he was detained, ripped out of her very hands by Ministry personnel. She did miss him; she missed him dearly.

“Ginny,” he repeated. He looked so tired. “You can’t visit me here.” As always with Draco, there was so much left unsaid. She knew what he meant: _“I don’t want you to see me like this.”_

“Your sentence is six years, Draco. You were there for me when I was imprisoned. The least I can do is return the favor.”

Draco smiled, but there was no mirth in it. “Ginny, dear,” he tried to inject some teasing into his voice, but it was strained and tired, and his smooth voice caressed the word “dear” seemingly involuntarily. “Five and a half with good behavior.” Then, more quietly: “We were both detained then. Now you’re free. I don’t want... I’ll find you when I’m out if you’re still there. But please don’t wait for me.”

“Draco…” She started, exasperated. This was the man who had saved her while he was inches from death; who had been thrown in jail because he was born on the wrong side of the fight. She couldn’t leave him.

“Please, Ginny. Promise me you won’t wait.” His gray eyes were desperate. Despite the dementors, they were alive with something, and for the first time, Ginny fully admitted to herself what it was: love.

“I promise.” The lie fell from her lips easily. It felt appropriate. Draco attempted a tentative smile. They talked about her school year until her time was up. She didn’t ask about him; she knew he wouldn’t want it. His uncertain demeanor and taut skin around his bones told the whole story for her.

When the guards came to collect her, though, Ginny couldn’t help but mouth, “I love you, too.” Draco looked startled, but she was gone before he could respond. She respected his wishes. She didn’t visit again. He didn’t write.

 

_July 24th, 2000_

It was a beautiful spring day; flower were in full bloom, and there was a steady pitter-patter of rain that only complemented an indoor wedding. Ginny fixed her tie as the rain steadily pounded against the windowsill. George had asked her to be best man at his wedding, much to the chagrin of her brothers. “I can’t hear you,” George had responded to all of their complaints, teasingly tapping his nonexistent ear when doing so. The ear jokes never got old with him. It had been long enough that she could hold back her tears, even when thinking about the fact that her place in the bridal party would have easily belonged to her late brother, had he been here to witness the wedding. When she couldn’t help but bring that up at the rehearsal dinner, George’s answer was blunt: “If Fred was alive, he wouldn’t be best man at this wedding; he would be the groom. Must I remind you that I am marrying his ex-girlfriend?” He said it with an exaggerated wink that made Ginny laugh, but she couldn’t help but think it was a bit creepy. Nevertheless, she was happy for George. Privately, she felt that they all deserved whatever happiness they could grasp after the war that had taught them happiness was so fleeting. She hoped others felt the same, as her happiness might be slightly more controversial if she could ever achieve it.

Ginny didn’t cry when George and Angeline said their vows. In fact, she beamed. The two of them were clearly happy together; it was written plain as day on each of their faces. The weddings had come quickly after the war, one after another like dominoes. This was the fifth in a set, starting with Ron and Hermione, then Harry and Luna, Percy and Penelope, and Charlie and Neville. She would be the last Weasley to wed, if she ever did. But she didn’t mind. Time after the war dripped like molasses; time didn’t matter as much when there wasn’t a dark wizard to escape.

 

_May 14th, 2004_

Soon after school had ended, Ginny had been recruited by the Holyhead Harpies, and gladly accepted. Flying always reminded her of Draco, but simultaneously allowed her to think of nothing. The wind whipping through her hair as she flew tasted sweetly of freedom, and, as a naturally competitive person, it was an ideal position.

That night they played the Chudley Cannons-- Ron was a bit put out, complaining he was unsure who to cheer for. It took a stern look from Hermione for Ron to clear his throat and say sheepishly, “of course, I’ll root for you, Gin.” After the game, Ginny took a quick shower and changed her clothes before setting off to look for her brother and his wife. Instead, she found someone else outside the dressing room: blonde hair, too thin, pointed nose, a wide smile that seemed out of place. His hair was perfectly cut as she hadn’t seen since their time in school, and he was dressed in clean robes. The only evidence of his time in Azkaban other than his slight frame was the absence of color in his face.

“Draco,” she managed to breathe out. He didn’t respond. He was looking at her quizzically, as though trying to ascertain her reaction.

She threaded her hands through his thin hair and pressed herself against him, engulfing him in a fierce kiss. The indecision came afterward-- it had been almost five years, after all. She broke the kiss the looked after him, finding him grinning the classic Malfoy grin that looked simultaneously like the cat that ate the canary and the genuine smile of a man in love. How he lived in two such separate spheres, she didn’t know and didn’t care, as her mouth found his again.

Ginny was dimly aware of the sounds of flashes in the background that she knew must have belonged to cameras. And cameras must have belonged to people, she supposed. But right now, she knew she belonged to Draco, and he was all hers. There were no walls or charms separating them; no sides; no time limits. Part of her had wondered what it would be like when they were like this-- free-- had it just been the sense of foreboding that had brought them together? Her mouth, her body, her heart responded with a resounding _no._ It was more. It always had been, but here was the proof threaded through her hands, grasping her for air, and somehow she knew, never letting go.


End file.
